


Biggest Joke of the Evening

by Wallwalker



Series: HSO Bonus Round-Up [7]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bandits & Outlaws, Clowns, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:38:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallwalker/pseuds/Wallwalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were too many of the clowns, Roxy could see that much. One way or another, things were going to get... messy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Biggest Joke of the Evening

The second you saw the one-wheeled devices rolling improbably down from behind the half-ruined buildings, each one manned by a clown with huge horns and a more ridiculous wig than the last, you knew you weren't getting out of this without making _some_ kind of mess. 

"Come on," you softly urge your carapacian followers, trying to get them to huddle into a tight group behind you. They gather into bunches easily enough; the hard part is getting them not to look up. They usually scare easy, or at least easier than you, and like to break into awkward stiff-legged runs and end up getting into more trouble on their own than they would if they'd just stuck together. Fortunately, though, they seemed to finally be getting it.

So it's just you and the clowns, six of them by your count - no, you amend yourself, as the grandest and tallest clown of them all rolls out from behind a large rock and makes his way down as the others circle. Seven. And all you've got is... well, you. And your fists, and your rifle, and maybe a couple of carapacians who might be able to fight. Problem was that the little guys and gals had been so shell-shocked by what had happened to their city that they were having a hard time realizing that any of this was real, or something - you wish you could speak their language, sometimes! You'll learn it, if there's ever time.

Which there definitely isn't any of, right now. You're busy trying to think of a decent way to disable enough of the clown-trolls to clear a gap for you and your followers before they could stop you when King Clown, or whatever, rolls up and stops right in front of you. "Hey," he says, in a slightly loopy voice. "That's a motherfuckin' trippy scarf you got there."

You're not sure what you were expecting this guy to say, but that was definitely in your bottom five. "Thanks!" you say as brightly as you can manage while still keeping a tight grip on your gun. The other clowns are laughing around you, still circling, and you're pretty sure they're getting closer.

"Yeah," he says as if you hadn't spoken. He nimbly hops off of his unicycle and he leans in closer, and you smell... oh, man. You have no idea what you're smelling on his breath, but you're pretty sure he's gotten into some really, really, really good shit. "The motherfuckin' colors, man, they're all up and motherfucking in my eyes, you know? All like... bright and happy miracles."

"Miracles," the others around him echo. Now that you see them more closely, you can tell that only maybe half of them are actually trolls; the rest are humans all painted up to look like trolls, with fake horns on cheap-ass hairbands. Go figure. "Motherfucking miracles."

"Yeah," you say slowly, trying to remember what you've learned about dealing with druggies. Talk slow. Never make any fast movements. And whatever you do, don't take any of whatever they're on. "It's a real pretty scarf, isn't it? Got it a long time ago, from my... from my mother." It's true, in a way. You found it in the bunker after you woke up, and who else could've left it behind? You're still hoping to see her again, someday. Surely she's out here somewhere, in this crazy world of fire and rubble.

"Your... mother?" he repeats, cocking his head. His eyes darken slightly in confusion.

Oh, no. What's the right word? Your mind races. "My... I mean... my lusus!"

"Ohhhhh," he breathes. "Well. Motherfucker's gotta take care of his lusus. They take care of us, right? Been a real long time since I've seen mine." He looks a little maudlin. "But I'm sure he's safe. He's got a big motherfuckin sea to hide in."

"That's right," you agree, trying to stay as chill as you can manage. "They take good care of us, and sometimes that means they gotta go searching, right?"

"Hey, yeah," he says, brightening.

"Yo, Gamzee!" one of the humans in facepaint shouted, scowling behind the paint. "Are we gonna start with the robbing or are we just gonna have some kind of lame feelings jam all night -"

He didn't get any further than that, unless you count the scream of pain as one of the others - a real troll, if Roxy knew anything, and a big one - clubbed him in the leg. "Stop questioning the highblood," the troll calmly ordered him. "You were warned."

"Hey, yo, c'mon, brother!" He turned to look at the quarreling pair. "Look, now, I up and appreciate the motherfucking love, you know that, but why you gotta hurt him to show it?"

"He was making trouble," the troll said, uncertainly.

"We're all makin' trouble, brother. All a bunch of up-and-coming troublemakers, in the same spirit as the Mirthful Messiahs themselves. Now take him home and take care of his busted-up leg."

"Of course, highblood," the other troll says, chastened. Then - to your utter amazement - he gets off of his device and somehow manages to lift the human and both of their unicycles off of the ground and leap away, without even batting an eye.

Gamzee shook his head, with a strange wistful smile on his face. "There's a man who ain't learned the virtues of waitin' for the punchline," he says, "and a troll too busy bein' proper to motherfuckin' live it up. You an' your friends ain't like that, are you, sweet little sister?"

"Absolutely not," you say, and you even dare enough to tap Gamzee on the nose as you say it. He grins lazily as you pull your finger away. "My buddies and I, we've got the most righteous sense of humor you've ever seen."

"Oooh," he says. "Sounds as motherfucking beautiful as you are."

You smile, although you have to admit, you're kind of nervous. You've never had a troll hitting on you before, especially not one as crazy as this. Still, he is kind of cute, and you'd much rather flirt with a crazy drugged-up troll than have to hurt him. "How about you tell us all about your carnival, Gamzee?"

"Not til I know your name, little sister. Bad luck to not know a name for someone who knows yours."

"Oh, I'm so rude!" you say, pretending to be mortified, even including the palm against the face. "Call me Roxy, sweetheart."

"Roxy," he repeats. "Roxy. That's a right sweet motherfuckin' name." He turns and hollers to his friends. "Hey, listen up! We're gonna show Roxy and her family the same motherfuckin' hospitality we're gonna get when the Dark Carnival rises, you all up and get me?" You catch a few grumbles from the crowd of clowns, but for the most part they seem to be agreeing. You'll have to be on your guard. You really hope you can explain this to the carapacians! They're going to be SO confused.

"So, Roxy," Gamzee says, reaching out his hand to you. "Would you like to set up camp and hear some sweet motherfuckin' stories?"

You grin and take his. "Only if I get to tell a few."

He's really the goofiest, happiest troll you've ever seen. "Girl after my own motherfuckin' heart."

**Author's Note:**

> HSO Bonus Round 1. This one was for flushed Gamzee/Roxy, Post-Apocalyptic + Urban Fiction.


End file.
